Fixing the Falcon(Self-Insert)
by SilentSpectator101
Summary: Robert "Sweetrobin" Arryn is replaced by a Self-Insert.
1. Chapter 1

**Hiiiiii**

 **Slight canon deviation in Robert's age as he was canonically born in 292AC but I figured that would be totally boring during the war so I aged him up by six years. Really want to know what developments you guys think should be implemented in the vale as I don't want to write a complete fix it fic so there won't be the introduction of the Bessemer process as is the case in so many other self insert fics. Though more commonly found knowledge can be introduced.**

 **Enjoy.**

 **Chapter 1 –**

Growing up in England had been pleasant. There are many countries worse to live in than the UK. Buses and trains, free healthcare and of course the police won't pick you up off the street, beat you and drag you on the tow-bar of their car as can be seen in other, less fortunate, countries.

He had always been large, at 6'2 he had always been tall growing up and by his 16th birthday had only just begun to slow down. He had been at a mid-level in school classes. Discerning himself as neither a genius nor an imbecile but merely floating along in all subjects. He was rarely on time with his homework and always fucked about in lessons but was never outright disruptive. Merely a perpetual shade of mediocrity.

Until one night he fell asleep in his bed at sixteen years of age, and woke up a petulant sickly eleven year old in a magical medieval shithole of a world.

 **Robert "Sweetrobin" Arryn - The Eyrie - 297AC**

Waking up had never before been so confusing. Limbs that were only half the size they had been flailing around as he tried to gain some collected thought. Small arms, small hands. Small legs, small feet. It didn't take long for him to work out that something wasn't quite right.

 _Fuck,_ he thought.

Putting aside his panic at him shrinking overnight he turned his thoughts to his surroundings. His four post bed stood in the middle of the room, the floor was made of cold, stone blocks. Other furniture in the room was similarly made of oak and included a plethora of chairs, tables and cabinets dotted about. Yet the most prominent ornament in this room was a finely detailed banner. It seemed to depict some sort of white bird on a blue background.

Standing up on his newly short legs he walked to the, once again oaken, engraved door with the same bird as the blue banner. Opening it he was met with the sight of two heavily medieval armoured up motherfuckers.

 _Oh shit,_ was his last thought as he sunk into the blackness.

Waking up once again he expected himself to open his eyes back to the _real_ world. Where blokes didn't wander round in armour with fucking swords. Instead he was greeted by an old man wearing a dress with a chain around his neck.

 _Lovely_

"Good morning Lord Robert, the guards called for me after you fell, another of your shaking fits?" asked the kindly looking man wearing a dress.

Lord? Steeling himself to act the part of whoever this man thought he was he replied, "I just felt a bit light-headed, where am I?"

Perhaps he could pass himself off as an amnesiac resulting from his fall.

"You are in your room, my lord. In the Eyrie."

The Eyrie? But that would mean- _oh fuck, fuckity fuckity fuck fuck fuck._

 _I'm in Westeros. The land where everyone fucking dies._

He was lucky he was a fan of the books and show or this would be so much harder to deal with. Suddenly things began to click into place, the bird on the banner? That's a falcon and the falcon is the sigil of House Arryn.

The man with the chain is a maester of the citadel and called me Lord Robert, Robert Arryn son of Jon Arryn.

He exhaled. There were good and bad things about this. If his new father wasn't dead yet he would be soon leaving him as Lord of the Vale, that's a very good thing. Life as a commoner in Westeros wasn't a fate he'd wish on many. The bad thing however was that since he was born in 286AC and wasn't a new-born, he was perhaps only a few years away from the War of the Five Kings.

Robert Arryn had originally been a useless lackwit still being breastfed long past time. At that thought he wondered whether his stomach still had his mother's milk in it. He had only been in this body for a few hours at most after all. He almost heaved just thinking about it.

 _There's definitely going to be some deviations from canon._

It had been a week since he had come to possess this new body and in that short time a few things had become apparent to him.

The boy had truly been useless. The nobles at court treated him as such and were rather surprised by his newfound sense.

Another was that his mother didn't like it. She had been stunned to silence when he had refused her offer of milk and became angry as he was adamant on eating actual food.

He found that in the time since eating properly his frail body had become stronger and the fits and light-headedness he had first experienced were beginning to ease up. All in all life in the vale was pretty good. He had managed to establish that the year was 297AC. Meaning he was eleven years old. The war was set to start after the death of his father in a years' time at the hand of my mother on Littlefinger's order.

 _Ugh, that dickhead has to go. No way is he moving me out of the way to get Lord Paramountcy of the Vale._

Not much that could be done in the meantime but throw himself into learning everything about the land he now found himself in. Reading books about a place and actually living in it he found were very different things. The level of knowledge about his surroundings he found himself needing were sorely lacking. He was also determined to put some weight on the skinny frame he now had. By all accounts his father was a rather broad shouldered man and he should genetically therefore be capable of putting on some muscle. He would also have to see to swordsmanship lessons and he was already dreading learning to ride a horse. All of these knightly talents would be a shock to the system for sure. The Vale had received the brunt of the Andal invasion and house Arryn having been part of the Andal meant that such values were more prominent here than in any other kingdom. It was a must that he learnt how to fight as well as any other. He didn't necessarily have to be the deadliest or most valiant of knights but he certainly had to be good enough not to embarrass himself. The original Robert Arryn had done enough to tarnish the name he'd inherited. It was up to him to fix it.

After all, a good _King_ leads his men from the front.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2-**

 **Robert Arryn – The Eyrie – 297AC**

It had now been two months since his little excursion into the magical world of Westeros and things were looking significantly better. His father had yet to die meaning he had not yet inherited much responsibility seeing as old Nestor Royce was castellan of the Eyrie. Yet his weak body had grown much stronger due to a combination of swords practice and eating plenty. It seemed the majority of people in Westeros had little concept of healthy eating and a balanced diet. What else could you expect of a people with no concept of science where everything from the weather to illness was blamed on the will of whichever gods happened to be most prominent in that particular kingdom or lordship.

There had been much to learn in his stay, he now had a reasonable understanding of the culture of the people he would soon rule over along with managing to remember the myriad names and sigils of the various houses both of the Vale and beyond.

Distance between him and his 'mother' had grown to an acceptable degree that he was now more or less free to wander the Eyrie without constant supervision from her. Yet of course he would never escape the constant presence of his two sworn shields.

They followed him everywhere from the privy to the courtyard where he would practice his growing skill with a blade under the supervision of the Master-at-arms. Naturally, being born in a world where nobody used swords anymore he had little skill at first. Luckily for him Robert had rarely practiced himself and so there had been no expectations of his skill. Allowing him to practice without any questions asked.

He found himself to be more proficient in a bastard (hand-and-a-half) sword allowing him to use both hands when necessary, it was between the size of a long sword and great sword and allowed him greater reach.

Let's just say there was some progress he needed to make before he'd be competing in any melees. He had also made great strides in riding, the first few times he had only succeeded in bruising his bollocks but after some practice he was now reasonably comfortable cantering he had yet to hold a lance for a number of reasons but he hoped he would be good enough to attempt such.

In other news he had begun to think about possible inventions and such he could bring to Westeros. The majority of the more important revolutionary inventions such as advanced metallurgy and steam engines he would be unable to implement as he simply didn't know enough about them. Yet he had thought that introducing seed drills, horse driven ploughs and a form of crop rotation could be achieved to increase the output of the limited farming space in the rocky vale by many times.

Due to the landscape of the vale much of the farming was pastoral land including this worlds version of Scottish highland cattle and sheep. He also figured he could start animal breeding. It was already practiced for animals such as horses as he remembered Willas Tyrell breeds them. By only breeding animals with certain qualities, he should be able to breed much more profitable livestock.

He could also make use of hydropower for watermills to create lumber mills and increase the production of flour and perhaps even introduce paper. Paper would probably be one of the best inventions he could make as parchment was expensive as fuck and if he could undercut the market he could significantly improve the financial state of his kingdom.

The main aim here was some sort of Agricultural Revolution. During the Agricultural Revolution, the agricultural output of England increased about three and a half times (The Agricultural Revolution). With more productive farms and a far smaller work load, a huge number of people were able to leave the farms and go to the cities. It was this large available workforce that allowed for the greater production needed to spark the Industrial Revolution. Whilst he didn't have the knowledge capable of the Industrial Revolution, he could certainly set the foundations for future progress.

-

A few days later and other conclusions had been drawn. With his increase in strength and lack of fits he was attracting attention from many people. His father to name one, but his other vassals too. Most nobles had assumed the sickly Robert Arryn wouldn't live to see adulthood yet now it was looking increasingly likely. This on its own was not something to inspire worry. That was due to the attentions of a certain Petyr Baelish. It was known through the books that he held significant control over my ill mother and eventually inspired her to kill my father with poison.

Would seeing me strong and healthy make me his next target? If he couldn't be appointed as the regent of the sickly boy he would never see power in the vale.

One thing for certain was that I would need the full support of my vassal lords to retain complete power in the Vale during the wars to come. The war of the five kings could indeed become the war of the six kings.

The Vale only had one border which was protected by huge mountains, as such it had not suffered as much from wars as other kingdoms. Of course there were the mountain clans that came down and raided small villages every now and then but nothing close to the same scale as other kingdoms had suffered. This meant it boasted a rather large population for the rocky landscape that it was. It suffered neither terribly harsh winters like the north, nor the hot desert heat of Dorne and had enough food to feed its people. As such the Vale boasted could raise a total of forty-five thousand men. Of course even during war the full strength of the Vale was never truly called upon. Such as during Roberts Rebellion only fifteen thousand knights of the vale fought. But if truly necessary such a force could be called upon. The Vale also had a fleet of sixty or so war galleys moored at Gulltown, the same as the Westermen fleet at Lannisport

This strength was roughly the same as the North and Dorne. Though it is said the Daeron II lied about the Dorne fielding fifty thousand men after his conquest so as to make their defeat all the more impressive. During the war Dorne only sent ten thousand spears to fight for Rhaegar. Though this could be that they didn't wish to fight for him in strength.

The strength of the Westerlands was apparently fifty thousand men but similar to the Vale not all of them were ever fielded. The Stormlands has thirty thousand men and the Reach eighty to one-hundred thousand including twenty-thousand cavalry. Somehow the Iron Islands were meant to be able to call on twenty thousand men and a few hundred longboats and the Iron Fleet of one hundred war galleys, even as a group of islands with little to no farming land and no lumber of their own to rebuild their ships. Lastly the Riverlands could call upon roughly forty thousand men but they had no natural defences and so were always getting royally fucked during every war.

That put the whole of Westeros together at roughly three-hundred and fifty thousand men all together plus about a thousand ships. All in all rather impressive for a continent roughly the size of South America back on earth. The Free Cities however reportedly had more, and certainly far more ships than that. Whilst there were no true numbers, Volantis alone allegedly has a population of three million, most of its army being land based you can imagine it to easily be the match of any kingdom of Westeros.

Then there was Braavos which was meant to be one beasty motherfucker.

 _Increasing trade with the free cities is an excellent idea too. Braavos is according to GRRM in the early renaissance period whilst everyone else has still been clinging to the early middle ages for eight thousand years._

All in all there were still many improvements to be made if Robert wanted to become King of more than just the Vale when other Robert died. In fact, the war of the five or six kings would be a brilliant opportunity for him. The only real way into the Vale was the East Road guarded by the Bloody Gate so he could just sit there and wait for everyone to kill each other before he gathered his men and marched out to show Westeros who was daddy. The North / Riverlands and Iron Islands were fighting for independence so he would leave them be. That left the Crown lands and Stormlands as feasible for conquest. In fact he may not even have to conquer the Stormlands as his father and the King were good friends and many lords from both kingdoms had fought together during the Rebellion. Both kingdoms also place high value on honour.

He could just stick it to Joffrey nick all his shit and leave it at that. Westeros would cease to be a single Kingdom and turn into three or four. He was sure Dorne would split from the kingdom as well.

It was as these thoughts ran through his head that he once more tuned into the world around him, he was sitting at the table in his room staring at a mildly ponderous tome of debateable quality written on the histories of the many houses of the Vale. The tale of King Robar Royce II and his loss against Ser Artys Arryn his ancestor.

This reminded him of one of his plans. Tying his bannermen to him strongly would require them to meet and like him. He would propose a tour of the Vale to his father.

He could leave the Eyrie and see the lands he would one day soon rule and be back before autumn truly set in.

'Twas good to be a noble in Westeros.

 **A/N**

 **Hope this was of good enough quality, mostly a filler to set out some of the plans for one good old Jon kicks the bucket.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3-**

 **Jon Arryn – Kings Landing – 297AC**

He was tired and he was old. Yet still he pressed on. With Robert turning out to be such a useless king he had no choice but to practically rule for him.

 _The king shit and the hand wipes._

He let out a deep sigh. Whilst his burdens were great so too had he been filled with joy by the news that his son seemed to finally be turning into a man. His castellan Nestor Royce kept him updated and it seemed his son had put on muscle weight, began to practice with swords and also on horseback and that his shaking fits and fevers had seemed to stop. All within two months!

Such news was a great relief as it seemed House Arryn would not die with him as he had feared since the death of his nephews Elbert and Denys Arryn during Roberts Rebellion. As well as making physical progress it seemed his son was doing well academically and the Maester had only good things to share in his letters.

Digging through the piles of letters on his desk, in his solar set in the tower of the hand. He stumbled upon one signed with the sigil of his own house. This letter could only be from his son. Smiling slightly he broke the seal and opened it.

The first few paragraphs simply told him of his progress in the yard and his tutoring's with the Maester but a couple of paragraphs in particular made him think.

 _I hope all fairs well in King's Landing. I can only imagine you find yourself wishing for the sights seen from the heights of The Eyrie. I hear the stench of that city can be smelt for miles around and I pity you for it._

 _As I'm sure you're aware I am coming up to my twelfth nameday soon and I have a singular request for you._

 _I am to be Lord of the Vale one day and yet I have only met a small amount of my future bannermen and they surely only remember me as a sickly young boy. I wish to travel the Vale to meet our lords to better know the lands I will one day call my own and foster a better reputation among them._

His son made good points and Jon had made a similar trip when he was the same age for the same reasons. Yet he worried for his son, he had only just recovered from his lifelong sickness and wanted to travel hundreds of leagues?

The clansmen had also been partaking in small raids in a number of villages and if his only heir were to be killed by them his house would become extinct save for the Arryn's of Gulltown who were merely merchants and only distantly related.

He stood up and walked to the window overlooking the courtyard of the red keep and the grand city beyond.

Letting out yet another _deep_ sigh he decided to allow it. Though he would ensure his sons escort was very large and the route safe. The Vale was a torn land between Andal houses and those still claiming descent from the First Men. Robert must foster loyalty of his own from his lords and he would never be able to do that from a room in his ancient castle.

Sitting back down at his desk he began to pen another letter. This time addressed to Nestor Royce ordering plans to be made for a full trip around the Vale.

It was at this moment that Jon Arryn, Lord of the Vale truly felt _old_.

-

Robert missed cars.

He missed myriad things from his own world but cars, buses, trains and planes were the most important. Riding a horse hundreds of miles _hurts_. Much worse than sitting in a car seat for a few hours. He had never particularly enjoyed long journeys when it was only 7-8 hours. Having to travel for two weeks to get the same distance grated on his nerves hugely.

 _Maybe I should invent the bloody steam engine. Just to have some trains._

The thought was appealing but he simply didn't have the infrastructure for it. There were lots of building blocks he would need like advanced metallurgy to produce the correct strength of steel so that it wouldn't explode or crack under strain.

Regardless, travelling would have been quicker if he didn't have to go around with two hundred men at arms and servants on his journey. That really slowed things down.

He was still on the first leg of his trip and was currently en route to Runestone to stay with Lord "Bronze" Yohn Royce. From the books he knew the man to be both capable and honourable. Perhaps he would make a good hand of the king?

He was about an hour's ride away from the castle and couldn't wait to sleep in a bed rather than a bedroll on the floor in a tent.

-

An hour later and he had finally arrived at Runestone. The castle was the same as the Eyrie in that it had only one entrance and exit which was a bridge from the shore to the stack rock the castle was built on. High walls with domed roofs stood atop it. An impressive sight, one that House Royce could be proud of for sure. Yet it had nothing on the Eyrie. Robert supposed he must be spoilt.

Reaching the gate he announced his name and purpose and was swiftly allowed entrance, including his men. Leaving his horse with a stable hand he made his way to the courtyard in front of what he supposed was the great hall.

He quickly tried to recall all he could of House Royce.

He should probably have made more of an effort to learn about the house he would spend the better part of a fortnight in the company of.

Turning the last corner he made it to the courtyard and outside the hall was the entire household. Knights, men-at-arms, servants and of course, the proud Royces themselves.

As he made his way towards them, everyone dropped into a bow, it was mildly uncomfortable until he stopped only a foot away from Lord Royce to the words.

"Runestone is still your father's, my lord." announced Lord Royce

I smiled. "and I thank you for it, now please stand, you have been a steadfast and trustworthy bannerman to my father and I wouldn't have a man kneel in the dirt in his own home!"

At that all tension seemed to leave those gathered and everyone stood once more.

"I'm sure you must be exhausted from your journey, I'll have a servant show you to the rooms you'll be staying in so you can freshen up before the feast tonight."

I smiled again and thanked him before following the servant to my quarters and asking for a bath to be drawn.

The rest of the evening went without a hitch and I found the time passing quickly. I sparred with Andar and Robar in the courtyard and heard many a story about their apparently annoying younger brother Waymar who had volunteered to join the black brothers on the wall.

He also met their rather attractive sister Lady Ysilla of whom he had previously heard not a word. She was a few years older than he and promised to Ser Mychel Redfort.

It only reminded him that he was, other than his father, the only member of the main branch of House Arryn. As such he only had his own marriage with which to bargain. No brothers or sisters to use to forge alliances. He would have to wait to have children of his own for that. He hoped that would be at least a decade away as he was, after all, only just turning twelve. Yet he had plans and high hopes for what the Vale could one day be. Gulltown was one of only five true cities in Westeros with a population of roughly fifty-thousand.

He would need a census to be done sometime during his rule. Along with a valuation of all his holdings, the 'crown' treasury and the true amount of men available for future wars.

He knew one thing for sure, he was bloody lucky his father had done such a good jobs of running everything and keeping the lords loyal.

 **A/N  
**  
Second chapter today, fun fun fun. If anyone is interested in being a beta of sorts please let me know. Would be a big help. Hope you enjoyed and as always let me know of any ideas/mistakes I have made.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4-**

 **Robert Arryn – The Eyrie – 298AC**

It had now been a year since he had first woken up in the sickly body of Robert Arryn, and what a difference he had made. The once fragile and pathetic body stricken with shaking sickness was now a much larger and somewhat muscular frame, lighting tanned by the increasing amounts of sun he had exposed himself to. He had also grown much, now closer to six feet than five. He was sure that it would only take a year or two for him to reach his previous height of six feet two inches. A height which would near enough dwarf the vast majority of Westerosi men, barring the Clegane brothers and Jon Umber of Last Hearth in the North.

All in all with his uptake in physical strength, the splendour of House Arryn shined ever brighter. With his father as Hand of the King, Robert was acting Lord of the Eyrie and was taking more to the title with each day.

He had commissioned a set of finely adorned plate armour. The breastplate enamel encrusted and with his houses sigil carved and filled in with blue paint. The helm set in the likeness of a falcon, with wings pronounced form the sides. Much the equal to Renly Baratheon's own stag helmet.

He had also had a bastard sword forged for him. The long and thin blade reflected the light from its finely polished surface, the hilt long enough for two handed use yet the blade remained light enough for one handed. The pommel was forged in the likeness of a falcon's head, beak wide open, eyes set with two gleaming sapphires.

Perhaps this was _slightly_ ostentatious but who could blame him? He was rich as fuck and in a land where everything was cheap. Plus what guy hadn't dreamed of having a cool sword to gut dickheads with?

It turned out that despite not shitting gold like the Lannisters, the Arryns had gold aplenty in their own mountains. It had taken only a word with his castellan for the vast mountain his castle sat on to be prodded for the various ores that can be found. Of course that's not to say the Vale didn't have _any_ mines beforehand but certainly not any gold ones. The little venture had so far proven itself to be vastly more profitable than he had at first imagined.

A regular tradesman in Westeros, stonemason etc. earned, on average, three silver stags per week. This varied depending on where in Westeros you practiced and at what standard, but three was the average. To put this into perspective, the Iron Throne is six million dragons in debt. There are ten stags to a dragon. So sixty million stags in debt. Sixty million divided by three is twenty million. Meaning the national debt is equal to twenty million weeks wages for an average stonemason. This is mostly due to the fact that the Westerosi nobles held the majority of the gold meaning very little was in public circulation. Effectively meaning the nobilities buying power was very high. The only time inflation was seen was before and during war as nobles amassed men and arms therefore releasing large amounts of gold, silver and copper.

The currency denominations could be compared to British pounds, half-crowns and shillings before the decimal system. Altogether confusing and inefficient.

Regardless it was estimated that in the gold veins found in the mountain the Eyrie itself was set upon there were at least a million or two dragons worth. Who knows how much was to be found in just the rest of House Arryn's mountains? What about the other houses own mountains? The discovery of gold was huge as it meant he could truly contend with the Lannister's.

As he once again looked around HIS solar he felt the true gravity of his situation hit him.

 _There are ice monsters coming to kill everyone in Westeros in a short couple of years. Essos too if they can cross the sea somehow._

That made him somewhat queasy. For all he was enjoying his stay in Westeros he had a responsibility to save what he supposed were his people now. The Vale that is, fuck the rest of it. Ya know what they say, 'more lands, more problems'. Provided the Others were killed he could use the lack of men in the other kingdoms to try his previous plan of conquest. He figured he could take half of the Riverlands and most of the Crownlands with little resistance. Dorne in the far south would probably try to take lands as well. Likely the marcher lords in the Stormlands would be taking a hard-core anal pummelling for sure. In fact he was fairly sure all of Westeros was going to get wrecked if they didn't reinforce the wall. Yet at heart Robert was selfish.

 _I'd much rather sit here in the Eyrie in a pile of gold like Smaug and take advantage of the crisis at the end of the Long Night._

In the way of implementing that particular plan he would need to be able to feed his people. As such he had already found an empty farm in the lands directly controlled by House Arryn and had begun experimenting with simple inventions like, seed drills and ploughs rather than a bloke with a hoe breaking his back all day for a loaf of bread. The farm was set around a small abandoned keep that he had had renovated, along with a few wooden buildings that had been set up for the farmers to live in. He wasn't exactly going to do it himself was he?

If his ideas came to fruition he planned to send some trained farmers to the other major houses in the kingdom so they could begin revolutionising themselves. During his nameday trip around the vale he had met the ruling families of all the major fortresses. Wickenden, Redfort, Gulltown, Runestone, Ironoaks, Longbow Hall, Old Anchor, Hearts Home, Coldwater Burn and Strongsong. All the major strongholds of the Vale. Whilst visiting them he had made friends with the future lords his age and earned at the very least the _respect_ of his future vassals.

 _I'm already speaking as if my father is buried._

His father had called him to King's Landing at the last turn of the moon.

 _'Turn of the moon?' I even think like the Westerosi and I've only been here a year. How much of my old self will I lose?_

The reason hadn't been explained but he supposed that with Robert's recently recovered health it was to be expected his father would wish to further his political education himself.

 _What better place to learn than a pit of vicious poisonous snakes that will attempt to murder me the first chance they get?_

The whole world would be against him every step of the bloody way but he would win. He had ever been competitive and a world where everyone was an arsehole only encouraged it.

Regardless of his older mind people still only saw a twelve year old. He supposed that he had technically been alive for seventeen years now. Having had his birthday shortly after arriving here.

He briefly wondered if his old world had ceased to exist with his passing into this one, or if it ever existed at all. Perhaps that was the dream? Did his family miss him if it didn't? He expected so, he knew his old family had loved him.

He shook the thoughts from his head, only thing to come from those thoughts is sadness and that'll do him no good.

His new mother would be the biggest obstacle in his leaving to King's Landing. Whilst he had managed to mostly rid himself of her influence and her control over his court at the Vale, she would only cause trouble without him there and he definitely didn't want to bring her with him.

 _Perhaps I should return her to Riverrun. Yet that decision ultimately resides with my father, I am not Lord of the Vale yet._

He resolved to bring it up with his father when he saw him. Certain he could convince him of such a course of action.

Smiling he gave the orders for a retinue to be formed, supplies to be found, his farming project to be continued without him and horses to be readied for his trip to King's Landing.

 **A/N  
**  
 **Hope this wasn't too crappy. There should now be some action with Robert heading to King's Landing as that is where the majority of bad shit happens in Westeros. As always let me know of any mistakes you notice. Thanks**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5-**

 **Robert Arryn – The High Road – 298AC**

The road to King's Landing was a long one and as he was sure he had mentioned, the Westerosi means of transport left much to be desired.

There were relatively few means of keepings one entertained whilst riding a horse for weeks on end. His favourite one was coming up with the many ways he was going to fuck over Littlefinger. One thing for sure was that all the gold he had 'skimmed' off the top in King's Landing? He was going to be confiscating it as House Baelish were vassals to House Arryn. Oh, and he was going to kill him.

His other on-the-road pastimes included thinking about ways he could beast up the vale. So far his list contained an upgraded city charter for Gulltown including a large expansion of the current sixty vessel fleet to contain one hundred and some ships including a merchant navy for provision during war and for running dragon glass to the wall.

He would also seriously have to look into expanding the Eyrie. There was no room for expanding to the sides but he could excavate the inside of the mountain to form the same kind of structure as Casterly Rock. The mountain already had a few levels carved out of it to form a small barracks and a reasonably large granary but there was room for much more. If he had a lot of shit built underground he wouldn't have to leave for the Gates during winter. That would seriously compromise the strategic value of the stronghold. He would just have to abandon the above ground towers.

Building another city would also be a priority. The vale has some of the most fertile lands in the realm. The new city would become the capital of the new kingdom he would be carving out.

Another important avenue of exploration was increasing trade with the Free Cities. Namely Braavos, Braavos is literally just across the sea. Same latitude. How Gulltown only had a population of fifty thousand was astonishing. Hopefully the new agricultural innovations would aid in dragging internal immigrants to more urbanised areas – including the new city he would definitely be building.

Greenhouses were another important idea, allowing him to grow fresh vegetables during the winter all throughout the vale. Glass would be coming from Myr with whom Gulltown was not far.

Road-building would also be incredibly important with regards to increasing trade within the Vale and encouraging immigration. The High Road would have to branch off to the North and South, the Southern section going through Redfort, Gullton and Runestone and the Northern section branching off through all the other major settlements and strongholds in the Vale. Roads would also decrease the danger of traveling during winter and heavy rainfall as paved roads didn't get muddy.

Perhaps the most limiting factor for many of these things were the savage mountain clans. Their time had certainly come to get the fuck out. Last thing he needed was trade caravans and smallfolk getting slaughtered by a group of shit covered plebs with bronze weapons who cut off the ears of the people their slaughtered. He would have them all wiped out.

A good way of doing this he imagined would be to create a glory seeking order of knights (or soldiers looking to become knights), who would ride around stabbing them.

One good idea to come from the books was the 'Winged Knights' who were Sweetrobin's personal guard (and future Kingsguard if all went well). The vale had some excellent knights to choose from he was sure.

It was at that exactly moment that his revolutionary thoughts were broken by one of the aforementioned savage groups of shit covered plebs.

 _Fuck_.

 **Jon Arryn – King's Landing – 298AC**

His son was on the way.

Elation had filled his heart over the previous months of letters from the various lords of the Vale. Telling Jon of his son's actions during his nameday trip around the land. He had upheld himself with the honour expected of a son of the Vale.

He had sparred with the lords sons, spoken well amongst the nobility and earned the respect of every lord he came across. This was such a magnificent change from the sickly boy he had anticipated as his heir. He couldn't help but wonder how such a change had come about. Putting it down to the will of the gods he continued to read the most recent letter.

It came from Nestor Royce and was currently detailing his son's most recent farming innovations he had been cooking up on that little farm he had taken over. Its effects seemed rather incredible. Something his son insisted to be called a 'Seed Drill' and another device that acted as a scaled up horse-drawn hoe had managed to quarter the amount of manpower necessary to plant crops. How the idea for such a revolutionary invention had come to his son was only for the gods to know.

He was still dumbstruck at his son striking gold in the myriad mountains surrounding the Eyrie. Why had he and his ancestors not thought of such a thing? He supposed it had to do with the mountain clans and their tendency to slaughter people.

All of a sudden the door to his solar burst open and in came the last man he would have expected to climb the stairs in the tower of the hand.

"Ah, Jon! I've been looking for you!" bellowed the fat Robert Baratheon, his own son's namesake.

"Your Grace." He replied bowing his head. He might have raised him as a boy, but there were still certain courtesies required.

"Bah! How many times do I have to tell you to call me Robert, you all but raised me!" He said for the thousandth time.

"You are still the king."

"To the seven hells with that!" he returned to bellowing.

Letting a small smile show he replied "Very well, was there something in particular you wished to discuss?" Attempting to get to the point.

"Yes! As I understand it your son is coming to King's Landing within the next moon."

Thinking of his son the smile returned. "Yes, I invited him here to teach him some of courtly manner and politics."

"Yes, yes I'm sure. There should be a tourney held for the occasion! Let him show his skill at arms!"

Jon's eyes widened. Just another one of his adopted son's extravagances.

 _Just another one we cannot afford._

"That is hardly necessary, your grace. Robert is only twelve!"

"Piss on that! I killed my first man at the same age. The tourney shall be held the day after he arrives. Doesn't have to be the grandest in the history of the kingdoms, but it could be his first chance at a knighthood!"

After a moment of silence and internal debate he let out a sigh and replied, "As you wish, your grace. Is there anything else to discuss?"

"As a matter of fact, speaking of your son, he isn't yet betrothed is he?"

 **A/N**

 **Another one! Tell me what ya think and before anyone mentions it. I will definitely be trying to increase length soon.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6-**

 **Robert Arryn – The High Road – 298AC**

As he found himself surrounded by his traveling retinue of two hundred soldiers he briefly considered whether he would return to his original world if he died in this one. Or if it would turn out to have all been some strange dream concocted by his overactive imagination.

Of course time needed to consider it was vastly lacking as arrows were now falling like rain around him killing some of his men as they desperately tried to form cohesive ranks around him in a square formation.

He had deducted that this was an ambush by the ever-present and looming threat of the mountain clansmen.

 _These arseholes are definitely going to get it._

He found himself glad of the fact he had decided to forgo comfort whilst traveling to don his impressive and ornate armour whilst travelling through the Vale anticipating that, this being Westeros, a magnitude of shit would hit a fuck off huge fan in the sky and begin pouring down from above on him and all his plans with all the intensity of rain in a thunderstorm.

He drew his sword and watched as men began to emerge from the trees on either side of the road. One, two, three, twenty, fifty, a hundred.

 _Shit._

Well this was bad. Luckily they were still outnumbered by my retinue but who knows how many more of the bastards are lurking in the trees.

The arrows had now stopped, they were of better quality than would usually be expected of the clans. Steel tipped instead of bronze or stone. This was bad.

Looking at the men emerging from the trees he could see they likewise had steel weaponry of a wide assortment, axes, swords, some with shields, and some without. This was definitely not normal.

Someone was supporting them.

He quickly ordered his men to form a square as best they could. Cursing the fact he had yet to rearm and train his men to be able to form a shield wall. Knights were glory seekers and were more than useless in this kind of formation. There only place was in a cavalry charge.

It wasn't long before the clansmen charged, disorganised as they were it started as one or two letting out a feral cry and jumping towards his men. Yellow and black teeth exposed to eyes making him cringe.

 _No way is that happening to my mouth._

He could smell their stench from the centre of the square his men had formed. Their dirty furs poorly kept.

The first wave of the charge clashed with the shields and swords of his men, quickly becoming a mangled mass of human meatball covering the ground. Looking behind him he noticed that on all four sides the clansmen had begun to charge and that a few of his own men-at-arms and knights had fallen. These casualties would be unsustainable if the battle lasted for long. If the battle didn't end soon he and everyone else here would die.

Emboldened by necessity, briefly watching a man-at-arms brutally get his head crushed by a clansmen's poleaxe, he raised his shield and made his own charge towards the breach, his personal guards following their terrified leader into the fray.

His shield bashed against a clansmen currently trying to crush one of his men knocking him sideways and onto the sword of another clansmen. Turning to his left another clansmen was charging directly at him. Bringing his sword to bare he deflected the first blow with his shield before swinging his sword to cut into the clansmen's unarmoured side resulting in a yell of agony before the man fell off his sword to hit the ground clutching at the likely fatal wound.

Judging the man as subdued he looked around to find that at seeing their liege lord fighting alongside them, the men had gained a new energy and were fighting all the harder. Piles of clansmen now littered the ground, the stench of blood and shit from the opened bowels of the dead overpowering his senses.

It was as he was searching the battlefield that he laid his eyes upon what he assumed to be the clan leader batting aside one of the Arryn men with a studded club before a spear was driven through the back of his knee by another. Still he fought, holding with both hands to the hilt of the club and bringing it down on the Arryn man's head not once, not twice but three times in quick succession before another spear was driven through his throat. Ending his fight and causing the remainder of the clansmen to flee.

Letting out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding he sighed in relief. His first ever battle had to be an ambush. A third of his men lay dead and now he had to pause his journey for the wounded to be treated and the bodies to be burned.

It was at that moment he decided upon total annihilation of the mountain clans.

 **Robert Arryn – King's Landing – 298AC**

After his dreadful and long trip he had finally made it. He realised this would be his first time meeting the father of the body he now resided in and he was shitting himself about how he should act.

 _What kind of relationship did a father and son have in Westeros? How should he be addressed?_

There were very few examples of good parenting in the books and as Jon had died before they began he was completely unsure of what he was like in personality.

He settled on letting his father take the lead.

 _Not that it really matters._

He will probably be dead soon anyway, the guys ancient as fuck and in a land with no medicine where using leeches was still considered good medical practice.

 _Could he be saved?_

Probably, though through no small effort. It would require the death of Baelish after all as it was through his orders that Jon was killed in the first place. Or perhaps his healthy presence had made him think twice about it. The whole purpose of Jon's death was to gain control of the Vale and with Robert strong and popular amongst his lords it was fairly certain that all would be accomplished was the death of an old man.

Something so pointless was definitely not the style of Littlefinger. Though in this case Jon is still looking into Cersei's incest so the Lannisters may actually kill him as was believed originally.

Honestly Westeros was such a mindfuck it's incredible. Of course the only important things were those that directly aided in the needs of the Vale and, by extension, House Arryn.

That was, of course, the inevitable breakdown of the Iron Throne.

The kingdoms had been held together by dragons and there were no more except across the narrow sea with good old Dany.

 _I should look into ballistae to shoot fuck off huge bolts like the Dornish used to kill Rhaenys' dragon Meraxes._

He could have a couple rigged up on top of the Eyrie. Dragon proofing his mountain stronghold would also be necessary, the more shit he had built _inside_ the mountain the better as he was fairly sure even Balerion couldn't knock mountains down.

So far he planned on expanding the Eyrie to accommodate four or five thousand, a grand improvement over the current five hundred strong garrison. Along with upgrading the granary so he could feed them. Stone, Snow and Sky, the three castles between the Eyrie and the Bloody Gate would also need to be fixed up into a reasonable state. Though no army had ever succeeded in breaking through the Bloody Gate back when there still existence a hundred petty kingdoms between Dorne and the wall. That was the reason it was called the _Bloody_ Gate, not, it turned out, because a previous King had sworn whilst mentioning the Gate. Though he liked that story better.

As he rode through the city described by everyone's favourite dwarf as stinking of piss, shit and cum he couldn't help but wonder exactly how he was going to pull off all his plans. Sure it sounded easy on paper. Kingdom? Check. Gold? Check. Impenetrable fortress? You betcha! But fighting off six kingdoms during a horrific war followed by zombies that, in his opinion, belonged firmly in the Walking Dead universe? Maybe not. Oh god how terrible would it be if he had been inserted there? That thought made him thank his lucky stars.

The further he got into the city the more he had to agree with Tyrion's judgement. He imagined that even inside the Red Keep you would be able to smell the shit.

 _The kindest thing for this city would be wildfire._

Oh how he missed England.

 **A/N**

 **I would like to give special thanks to Vampire35 for his insights into this chapter. Give him a clap!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7-**

 **Robert Arryn – King's Landing – 298AC**

The journey through King's Landing had been peaceful. Despite the smell he found the experience rather relaxing. People were milling about the various marketplaces. This was the closest thing to a _real_ city in Westeros. With half a million citizens it was a thriving trade centre, its closest competitor to size was Oldtown in the Reach with a population of three-hundred thousand.

Every now and then you would see a gold cloak walking around no doubt up to their corrupt and nefarious deeds.

 _The amount of things that need doing to fix this city._

With any luck he would be able to steal some of the citizens when they heard of how well the Vale was doing compared to the more wartorn kingdoms of Westeros.

The Vale would soon have an abundance of food due to the few small and yet hugely useful inventions he had created. The fertile plains of the Vale of Arryn would be therefore rather more attractive than dying amongst the starving smallfolk of King's Landing. Which is cut off from the grains of the Reach. Adding a small incentive of lands and the tools necessary to set up farms he was certain residents could be attracted.

The Mountain Clans were still a problem ranking rather high on his priority list. With their presence along the High Road and their seemingly more bold attitudes possibly resulting from being given higher class weaponry.

It would be something rather difficult to do. Whilst the clans were divided and hated each other as well as low in population, the question was fairly simple.

 _Where are they?_

They were excellent at hiding, and though he was fairly sure they lived in caves in the mountains, the mountains in the Vale were _crazy_ extensive.

The beginnings of a plan began to evolve in his head.

 _Could I use bait?_

The clansmen were raiders, if they saw a supposedly weak party of road workers for instance. There's no way they wouldn't go for it.

Now there was just the question of who had provided the Clansmen with weapons.

He had more than a sneaking suspicion that this was caused by Littlefinger.

Speaking of which...Baelish needs to die. However, doing so would be easier said than done. Baelish had bought everyone who could be bought and had his very own network of spies that probably knew more about Robert than he did.

He supposed that, Baelish owning lands in the Vale, he could strip him of his lordship once his father was gone. No longer would he be _Lord_ Baelish, or a Baelish at all for that matter.

Yet that would require him to have a reason. If he began to revoke titles and noble status from his vassals what would the others begin to think? It would only cause trouble. No, he would have to kill him.

The only real question was _how_. He highly doubted that showing up and stabbing him would serve anyone very well. Though it would make for some comedic reactions he was sure.

No, he would have to use Petyr's own plans against him.

He took a moment to collect everything that could remembered from the books on his plans.

 _He wanted control of the Vale through Lysa._

What if he let him have it? Let Petyr think he could be controlled. During the war he would go to the Vale promising to bring its full might to bear for the throne.

 _He comes to the Vale imaging Lysa can ensure his safety when he marries her to become Lord Protector. All I have to do then is order him captured and killed._

Turning his attention back to his assigned rooms in the Red Keep as he was broken from his thoughts by a page.

"The Lord Hand requests your presence in his solar, milord." He stuttered out before running away again.

He didn't think that the bowing and scraping of the servants would ever appear normal to him. It was still weird living in Westeros. He wasn't sure that would ever go away. This world was just too different to his original.

As his walked up the many stairs of the tower of the hand his thoughts wandered to his first meeting with his father.

Jon Arryn was a tall man. Taller than he himself had been in his original world which gave him hope he would at least reach that height. At a first glance you wouldn't think he was as old as his eighties. He had broad shoulders that looked to still retain the strength of his youth and still had a youthful vitality to him. His blue eyes had shined when they were set on him.

It had gone rather well all things considered, once they were alone his father had quickly embraced him, before immediately beginning an interrogation in which Jon had ruthlessly bombarded him with questions varying from his health and shaking sickness, to his preferred sword techniques and proficiency with a lance.

Jon had lit up like a christmas tree when he told him he no longer suffered from the sickness. He imagined it must have been quite a relief to hear that the main branch of his house was slowly crawling back from the brink of extinction.

They discussed many topics, including much explanation on his part of his farming explorations. Jon had been very interested in both his farming and gold mining explorations and had made several enquiries into their workings and his plans for both. After impressing him with that Jon had touched on the matter of the tourney that would be held two weeks from then.

Robert hadn't been impressed with that. He had not the advantage of practice since childhood like most other nobles in Westeros and was after all not yet thirteen.

He shuddered as he imagined himself ending up like Willas Tyrell. _Not going to let that one happen._

He would have to play it smart and lose on purpose in the first couple of rounds so as to not to face the more challenging of opponents whilst not letting his house look weak. After all much stock was put in the martial skills in Westeros. The finer aspects of rulership not nearly so respected as hitting someone off a horse with a long blunt stick.

The guards let him in through the doors of the solar and he was swiftly greeted by the smiling face of his father.

"Ah there you are, I have some interesting news to share with you that I missed during our last conversation."

"Oh? Don't tell me, it's something to do with Robert Baratheon?" He guessed and by the look on Jon's face he had struck true.

"Yes, though it is not entirely unwelcome."

At that he made a face of disbelief and his father pressed on.

"He spoke to me of a betrothal a month of two before your arrival and I had yet to give him an answer. I wanted to speak to you first before I made a decision."

His eyes widened and he drew the dots in his head.

 _They want to betroth me to Myrcella._

"I..I..Myrcella?" He stuttered out much to the amusement of Jon.

"Yes, yes, I might be an old man but I can still see that she is the splitting image of a young Cersei Lannister. You would be a lucky man to take her as your wife."

"Yes, of course, you're right father It's just a shock. I hadn't thought much of marriage."

"And you won't be any time soon either. She's only ten name days old so you wills be betrothed for four or five years."

He let out a breath at that, gave him some time. He was worried for a moment as he knew just how fucked up this world could get.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8-**

 **Robert Arryn – King's Landing – 298AC**

Robert had found himself nervous a few times whilst living in Westeros. The most significant time had been fighting the mountain clansmen when he was traveling along the High Road, yet that had begun so quickly he hadn't time to feel nervous, fear yes, but not nervous. He found that waiting for his name to be called in the tourney lists was far more nerve wracking. He had been bouncing his knee and twiddling his thumbs for a solid hour as he waited for the inevitable fight to come. He only hoped that he was called to face a competitor of mild competence.

 _I would like to win at least my first round before getting the shit kicked out of me._

He had seen the other competitors, trying to glean some knowledge on their martial prowess and had found that amongst the crowd were a good few Frey's. That would be about as good a match as he could get, he might not be the best but he could surely knock a weasel off his horse.

As he gazed around he let his eyes linger on a particularly strange looking knight. He wore deep black armour like a starless sky, the only bit of colour was a garish red boars head, emblazoned upon his chest. He wore a great helm painted black, with the shadows cast so low that his eyes could not be distinguished within the darkness.

The so far nameless knight certainly cut an intimidating figure and he definitely hoped he wasn't unfortunate enough to be paired against him.

His father hadn't been happy that the king had insisted on his only son and heir participating in the tourney. Yet he had been adamant on seeing his skills, insisting no harm would come to him.

 _Seems I am the only useful Robert around._

It was at that moment he watched The Mountain, Ser Gregor Clegane, ride straight through his father's old squire Ser Hugh, his lance riding up and skewering the poor knight through the throat. He let out a few gurgles from the floor before going limp and being dragged off the field.

Wincing at that, his heart rate skyrocketed his panic really setting in.

 _Fuck. Maybe I will end up like Willas Tyrell._

-

After the death of Ser Hugh the king had stated the end of the days competing and that the feast would begin that evening. His sigh of relief had definitely been audible as he realised he might live to see at least one more day in this world.

That night after the feast he had decided to approach his father about a matter that had been on his mind a lot.

 _Regency._

If Jon died, by all rights Lysa would become regent of the Vale until his sixteenth nameday. That was unacceptable. The woman was mental and would destroy everything he had worked for so far. He wouldn't be able to prepare properly with her controlling the Vale.

He was going to ask his father to alert the Vale that Lord Yohn Royce would be his regent. Obviously he would have to be tactful in his approach to the situation, asking Jon to replace his wife with Lord Royce was a difficult decision to make. Also he was talking about his _death_ after all. Not an easy subject to approach for most. Yet Jon was old as fuck and most likely would croak it soon due to an assassination or purely natural causes. Regardless of cause, preparations needed to be made.

Settling that internal debate he knocked on the door to his father's solar. Knowing that even at the late hour his father would be working to un-bugger the realm from whatever King Robert's latest unnecessary extravagance had caused.

He received a quick "Come in." and he did so.

His father looked up, bags under his eyes and a frown upon his brow. Though his expression lifted when he saw who it was.

Smiling he walked towards his father's desk and sat in the chair opposite.

"Father, how have you been? Still some energy left I see."

Yawning, Jon let out a deep sigh, "Yes, this city hasn't quite killed me yet."

 _Jinxed it._

He smiled, "I should hope not or my mother would be ruling the Vale."

Jon frowned at that.

"Why would that be so bad?"

 _Oh, this was one naive old man._

"Mother is...unhinged father. Surely you have noticed this?" He replied somewhat hesitantly. This was a very important conversation and one wrong move and he would have fucked it.

"Your mother is certainly interesting. Yet I find 'unhinged' to be a rather strong phrase. What has caused you to feel this way?" Jon was back to frowning.

He sighed, "My mother was still breastfeeding me at the age of ten. You can't tell me that that's normal behaviour."

Jon didn't seem to have a reply, his mouth opening and closing looking for words to defend his seriously deranged wife.

Finding speech he said, "Son, your mother had a hard time before you were born. She faced many miscarriages and when you were born she was the happiest I had ever seen her. She was forced at a young age to marry me, I was old then and even older now. She has every right to be protective of her only child. Whilst that isn't a good defence for her actions, it is one I take to heart."

I openly gaped at him. What the fuck. That isn't a defence at all.

"Father, regardless of the cause she isn't fit to rule the kingdom. Please, replace her as my regent. I suggest you allow Lord Royce to take the position. He is a good commander and excellent ruler. He will be able to lend me aid Mother couldn't possible attempt."

At this his father looked up at him and there was a stubbornness in his eyes that almost made Robert growl. There was no way he would be persuaded. His mother would ruin all his plans unless he got rid of her himself.

 _Well, looks like I am staging a coup._

-

 **Myrcella Baratheon - King's Landing - 298AC**

Myrcella was confused.

Her father had rarely paid much attention to her or her siblings and yet today she had been alerting by a page that her father wished to speak with her in his solar, and he was _never_ in his solar.

She walked along the hall of the Red Keep, gazing at the tapestries on the wall. Flanked by two of her grandfather's Red Cloaks. They never spoke much, only followed.

It didn't take her long to reach the solar and she lightly knocked on the door. Old Ser Barristan was the one to open it, allowing her to view her father slouched in his chair, a bottle of wine his hand.

 _Oh, father._

She fell into a slight curtsy, her father quickly beckoning her to move closer and sit in an empty chair.

"You summoned me father?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I have news for you."

At this stage Myrcella was even more confused, her father almost never had news for her. Her mother might do but never her father. Particularly when this news was away from her mother, she knew how they hated each other.

"Yes father?"

"What do you think of Jon Arryn's son, Robert?" He forced out between mouthfuls of wine.

"I have yet to meet him father." She thought she understood where this was going.

"Hmm. Good lad, he will make a strong ruler of the Vale one day. Though I pray it won't be too soon. Gods know I still need his father."

 _Oh, father._

"As such I have decided to betroth you to him, obviously you won't be married for a good few years but I will be suggesting to Jon that you accompany Robert back to the Vale to get to know him and the land you will one day be the Lady of. You will follow him home in a couple of moon's turns. I suggest you get to know him."

With that she had been dismissed and had immediately gone back to her rooms. Did she want this? From what she had heard Robert Arryn was kind and intelligent.

 _The absolute opposite of my brother. How much worse could The Eyrie be compared to here?_

She supposed she would find out.

 **A/N**

 **I would like to thank Vampire35 for going above and beyond once again as my beta. Hope you enjoyed!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9-**

 **Robert Arryn – King's Landing – 298AC**

The events of the tourney continued the day after and he was once again shitting himself. His name had been called and he was sat upon his great white stallion, lance in hand, waiting for the flag to wave down.

His opponent was the so far nameless Black Knight, it seemed everything the knight owned was black, including the lance he could see pointed at him.

 _Fuck, this is much scarier than watching._

Running tactics through his head he made a note to keep his shield raised and tilted slightly so as to deflect, whilst pointing his lance at his opponent and hoping he made a lucky shot.

It was at this point the flag went down and his world became the sound of his horses thundering hooves as he coaxed it to gallop. His opponent getting closer by the second. Heart thundering as he saw the knights black shield held in front of him so as to cover his neck and prevent a replay of the Mountain killing Ser Hugh. Yet somehow the Black Knight had failed to realise that doing so opened up his stomach for a blow.

Robert jerkily lowered his lance to aim for this open spot and tensed his whole body in preparation for what was sure to hurt him as much as the other knight.

They drew closer, twenty yards, ten yards, five yards and then he heard the splintering of wood and felt his lance arm jar painfully at the same time as his shield was pushed back, the angle forcing his opponents lance to the side. He heard the distinctive deep grunt of his opponent and opened his firmly clenched eyes to see that his lance had impacted in the centre of the Knights chest. The Black Knight grabbed and yanked at his horses reins, attempting to keep himself upright, but only succeeding in causing his horse to rear up, causing him to tumble to the ground in a heap of black armour, horse and splintered wood.

Sadly for the knight his horse had fallen backwards and landed across his legs allowing everyone close enough to hear the painful snap of his leg bones before the animalistic scream of pain accompanying it.

 _Well, I didn't end up like Willas but that looks painful._

He faintly heard the roar of the crowd and the announcer call out his name as the winner of this round. His face formed a grimace as he raised what was left of his shattered lance before he dismounted, every muscle in his upper body twinging in pain, before he made the slow walk back to his tent with every intention of sleeping.

-

Luckily for Robert nothing had been broken. Yet the mysterious Black Knight had lost both his legs but had thankfully, or not, lived to tell the tale.

He wasn't sure he would want to live with no legs.

He shook his head of the guilt he felt.

 _That man would have done the same to me and likely moved on without a single thought in my direction._

Such was the way of Westeros.

 _A cruel world I now live in._

Sadly for Robert, his win meant he had to continue participating, a fact he was not at all pleased with. He doubted his immense luck would hold out for a second round and he wasn't sure he wanted it to. The further into the tourney you go, the harder the opponents become.

 _Last thing I need is to end up against the Mountain or Loras Tyrell._

Both of which had ridden straight through their opponents and were inspiring the respective amounts of fear and love in the hearts of all who watched them.

His betrothal to Myrcella was also weighing rather heavily on his mind. Whilst his marriage would only take place in a good four or five years when he would be seventeen or eighteen and easily a man grown by Westerosi standards. He was still very modern in his views.

He had heard from his father that Myrcella had heard from her father about the betrothal and he was anxious as to her reaction. He could only hope she would be happy as his future Queen of the Vale and a life away from her evil cunt of a brother.

There was also the fact she was a bastard.

Not that it mattered to him personally being as such things had little to no value in modern life but in this world such things did matter. The fact that he would be marrying her meant he would have to oppose the 'lies' of Stannis and Renly Baratheon.

 _The true my father will die for._

This was giving him a headache, he needed to sleep and think.

-

The next day the tourney began anew, he stood watching as Sandor Clegane tilted against Lord Renly Baratheon, idly hoping that Renly would be speared through the throat like Ser Hugh so as to save him the trouble.

It was then he heard a quiet and melodic voice announce her presence.

"Lord Robert."

He turned around as he heard her voice.

"Your Grace." He said with a bow as he recognised the face of the princess and his betrothed.

"You performed very well in the tourney. The Black Knight was very intimidating." She replied with a small and nervous smile.

"It was mostly luck I'm afraid, Your Grace."

"I find that hard to believe, my lord. I have heard rumours that you practice often."

Uh oh. He hoped she wasn't expecting him to replicate his win.

"That I do. A lord cannot be weak at the head of a kingdom." He quickly realised that could be taken as an insult towards her father and winced slightly.

She gave him a pained smile, "Very true I imagine. It must be a true burden, to be the only heir of a great house. The welfare of a whole kingdom on your shoulders."

He let out a sigh and nodded, "That it is. It seems as if it will be _our_ burden though, not just mine."

At hearing that he noticed her grin.

 _Perhaps she will be happy with me after all._

 _-_

Robert once again found himself wearing his enamelled armour with a great lance in his hand and sat atop his white horse.

He rode towards the royal box and laid his lance on the wooden structure in front of his betrothed.

He noticed the queen glaring daggers at him as Myrcella seemed to glow as she smiled.

She stood and tied her favour to the lance. Smiling even wider as she did so.

After returning the smile he rode towards his starting position. The angry helm of his opponent staring at him across the distance. This knight was called Ser Horas Redwyne. One of Lord Paxter Redwyne's sons, by all means a decent jouster. Robert only hoped he could lose without personal injury and humiliation of his house. Though what were people really expecting when you put a boy of twelve into a tourney against knights who have been training most of their lives?

He was just glad Westeros had very little meritocracy. Knights of nobility were rarely exemplary and he only hoped that such was the case with Horas.

He found he felt like fear this time than he did the last. Perhaps now he knew what to expect from a real tourney rather than just the practice yard. He knew now he should thrust harder rather than leave it all to pure luck. Also that he would be looking for weak spots form the get go.

He stared across the field, awaiting the flag once more. He didn't wait long before the king bellowed and the flags dropped.

He spurred his stallion into action, quickly reaching a gallop as he looked at his opponents positioning. His shield covering the middle of his body.

 _I won't have space to go below it and I don't really want to aim at his neck._

He settled for the centre of the knight's shield. It's not angled so Robert didn't think he'd slip and open himself self up for Redwyne. Robert tensed his shield arm and brought it closer, angling it once again as he aimed for the man's shield.

The combatants neared and the roar of blood was overwhelming his senses, he felt his shield arm ache as Redwyne's lance shattered against it, watching with disappointment as his own didn't unsettle the knight.

The two passed and he reached the other side with no injury barring shoulder ache. He turned his horse, reaching out with his lance arm as a servant placed another one in his hand.

The flags dropped once more and he was once again swiftly moving towards his opponent, this time he aimed his lance at the armpit of his opponent, angling his shield in the hopes the glancing blow would open up his guard would the lance to strike.

A few more seconds and the two clashed once more, Redwyne's lance did indeed bounce off his shield, his own lance striking true and knocking the knight back, disappointingly he managed to right himself in the saddle and didn't fall.

Both of them once more readied themselves for a third tilt. The crowd screaming in the background but Robert heard none of them. His mind purely focused on knocking this knight from his saddle.

The flags dropped and they were flying towards each other once more, the previous tilt had clearly hurt Redwyne as his lance was shaky, his shield moving over and up to cover the larger gap left in his guard. Robert angled his lance towards the man's stomach, the same spot he hit the Black Knight in the previous round.

A moment that felt like a millennia passed and they were clashing once again, this time Redwyne's lance struck Robert's shoulder and he could feel himself moving backwards even as his own lance struck true and Redwyne fell from his own horse. Both finding their places in the mud and grass, to the cheers of the crowd.

The signal is given for a draw and they both move into the next round. Both full of aches and pains, yet satisfied they hadn't disgraced themselves.

Robert was just annoyed he would have to joust _again._

As he dismounted and walked away from the field he set eyes upon his betrothed once more. Walking towards him, once again flanked by red cloaks.

When she reached him she smiled and he once more thought she seemed to glow.

He spoke up, "Thank you for your favour, Your Grace. I certainly felt luckier."

She chuckled, "Yes, you performed very well, my lord. A draw is far better than a loss. Perhaps you will face a knight more easily beaten in the next round?"

"Perhaps indeed. Though I think perhaps I won't find my knighthood at this tourney."

"Why is that? You looked every part a Knight of the Vale when you were toppling from your horse." She said grinning.

I glared at her in jest.

"Yes, I'm sure. By you leave I must go and prepare myself for the next round."

"Of course, my lord. I'll be cheering for you."

He couldn't help but shudder at hearing that. He would be very happy indeed.

-

Once more sat upon his white horse, he knew this would be the end of his lucky streak. He was facing Jaime Lannister. No way would he be winning this battle. The guy might be an arrogant dick but he was also a very skilled knight.

He lined up as his face gave a grimace. The favour of his betrothed flapping in the wind from atop his lance. Lowering it he watched the flags drop and started off towards his imminent doom. The secret father of his bride-to-be.

He sighed and lined up his lance as best he could, aiming for the centre of the golden knights shield. Whilst watching as Jaime stood in the saddle, and launched his weight forwards, catching his lance directly on Robert's breastplate and launching him violently from his saddle as he rolled to a standstill. The crowd cheering for the lion prick.

 _That arsehole is going to die one day._


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10-**

 **Robert Arryn – King's Landing – 298AC**

Days after the tourney and his muscles were still aching. He had bruises across his shoulders and was pretty sure he had cracked a rib when Jaime's lance had impacted on his breastplate.

 _It's a hard knock life, for me._

Since then he had done very little. Chatted a bit to Myrcella and had received silent death glares from the scary incestual mother bear for the trouble. He had drunk a lot of wine at the accompanying tourney feast, at which he sat at the very highest of the high tables along with the king. He found he enjoyed the fat kings company far more than he could have imagined. The stag might be a less than stellar example of a king but he definitely still had some of that legendary charisma he had heard so much about.

He found recently that his father Jon had been scuttling around with Stannis and he knew it wouldn't be long until he croaked.

 _I wonder who will get to him first, Baelish or the Lannisters._

He knew Cersei would most likely kill Jon and the King and then break his betrothal to Myrcella. He still remembered her going apeshit in the books for Tyrion betrothing her previous daughter to Trystane Martell. Which was quite the overreaction even with Trystane being the annoying, tanned, cocky dickhead he was.

Robert needed to get Myrcella to the Vale one way or another. When war broke out she would be a priceless bargaining chip against the Lannisters and the best way of him remaining neutral besides.

As long as he had family on both the Stark side and the Lannisters he would be able to sit rather comfortably in the middle. Though considering how unreasonable all of them were he highly doubted it would work out well.

 _No plan survives contact with the enemy after all._

Regardless, despite his growing affection for the father of the body he was inhabiting he had decided to let Jon go. The man was just too stupid despite his apparent statesmanship skills.

So many bad decisions.

The crown's debt for one. Three million in debt to the Lannisters? Two million in debt to the Iron Bank, another million split between Tyroshi trade cartels and House Tyrell and more recently.

 _Lending a significant amount of House Arryn's recently found gold to the crown._

A hopeless endeavour if ever he had seen one. Luckily it was only a couple of hundred thousand dragons and more gold was still being dragged out of the mountains. But still, really Jon? Fuck sake.

He sighed and continued his walk to his father's solar. Having been summoned a few minutes ago.

 _I wonder what this is about._

Things either went two ways with his father. A long talk about politics, or a little chat about how he was doing and a game of Cyvasse. He truly hoped for the latter.

Knocking on the door he was told to enter and found an interesting scene. His father was standing with the king and Myrcella.

 _Should be interesting._

-

After all present sitting down Jon had announced that he and the King had decided that Robert would be returning to the Vale, but not alone. When Jon had let this plan slip The Fat Stag had insisted that Myrcella accompany him to learn about the lands she would one day aid him in ruling. She herself lit up upon hearing this and enthusiastically agreed it was a good idea. Stating she was very excited to see The Eyrie in person and meet the families of the Vale. They both knew she only wished to escape her brother and get as far away from King's Landing as humanly possible. This was merely the best excuse available.

Personally he knew that this was the best way to escape the outbreak of war and get the fuck out of King's Landing before shit hit the fan and his father died.

Jon and Robert, seeing their respective children were happy with the arrangement smiled and Jon politely told everyone to get the fuck out so he could do some work. The King was all too happy to oblige.

A long week later and they had begun the journey to the Vale. This journey was destined to be longer than the last one due to the size of the retinue and the carriage that Myrcella was in. Hopefully there would be no unpleasant interruption this time.

 _Though with my luck whats the chance of that._

-

Petyr Baelish was a practical man.

He knew what he was doing. Always a number of steps ahead of everyone else, he didn't play the game. He owned it.

So when a malleable sickly child grew into a strong and healthy young man it could be said he exhibited a small measure of shock. A goblet of wine may even have hit the wall.

Petyr had even tried to _correct_ the problem. With his stint as commissions officer in Gulltown he had managed to gain a strong foothold in many parts of the Vale. Even as far as having some of the lower ranking houses in debt to him. Debts he had called to arm the mountain clans with their steel.

Of course they hadn't been happy with the arrangement. The knights of the vale have been warring with the clans for thousands of years. Yet in the face of their houses complete ruin it was the better option.

He had armed one of the larger clans named the Burned Men. Notorious for their raiding, having carried off a daughter of Alys Arryn, Lord Jon's sister, and Elys Waynwood some time before. The Burned Men had been armed on the promise they would fulfill a request at a later time. They had done so, and failed miserably, being beaten off by a twelve year old boy and his retinue during an _ambush._

Even whilst surprised the Arryn men had beaten them! It was unacceptable. People would be asking questions now.

 _How have the clans got weapons? Why were they so bold? Will they attack again?_

He supposed it may serve a good purpose if the clansmen are wiped out completely. Whilst he had hoped to find a use for them this once, they were brutal savages at the end of the day.

Yet still his plans would not be foiled completely.

Whilst Robert may be sticking around, his mother would be regent for a time and there were still three years until he reached his majority. Plenty of time for an accident. Harrold Hardyng was Robert's heir and would be much easier to control.

He was the perfect image of the proud Knight of the Vale. Not caring much for the economics and general running of the kingdom.

Perfectly malleable.

-

Jon was feeling ill.

It had come on all of a sudden, crippling stomach aches ripped through him most hours of the day. He suffered through the night, sleeping very little and therefore unable to assume his duties. He supposed this was to be expected, he was in his eighties. Most men died much younger.

He had lived a long life. Seen the rise and fall of five different kings ruled _for_ the last one. He'd fought in a handful of cruel and bloody wars, ruled justly and inspired loyalty in his vassal lords. If this was to be his death then his only regret was that his son wasn't with him.

The sickness continued for days. His maester had at first attempted to treat it, but after apparent failure the Grandmaester had taken over his treatment citing that he was the most experienced maester in Westeros.

Regardless, the sickness remained unabated and he felt the darkness creeping closer with every passing sunset.

He struggled to remain lucid, he had seen and heard Lord Stannis enter the room at one point, growling something out about vengeance. He vaguely recalled searching out the truth of the King's children and their supposed bastardry.

His eyes went wide. The king must be made aware.

He called out for a servant. The boy rushing in quickly, no doubt expecting the worst. Jon ordered him to call for the King, the boy nodded and rushed off.

The pain doubled and Jon was left huddled in a ball in the centre of his bed, light closing in and vague memories flashing through his head.

It could have been a second or it could have been a month later but he heard the booming voice of the King he had raised as his own.

Now his voice seemed so far away, as if he had cotton in his ears.

He opened his mouth to speak, pain jarring its way through his body.

He choked out a few words, mind foggy with delirium.

 _"The seed is strong."_

 **A/N**

 **Sorry this was later than usual. I became unusually busy. As always, thank you to Vampire35, hope you enjoyed and will be interested in your reviews.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11-**

 **Robert Arryn – The Eyrie – 298AC**

The Eyrie was truly beautiful.

He looked out across the plains of the Vale of Arryn from atop the Giant's Lance.

This is my land now.

News of his father's death had reached the Eyrie by raven a couple of days ago. Many members of the court had been stricken with sadness. The late Lord Jon was loved by many and would be remembered by more.

Was letting him die the right choice?

Yes, though he may feel incredibly guilty about it now. He needed to die for plans to commence full force. Robert was Lord of the Eyrie now, with all the rights and responsibilities that entailed.

Except I'm not.

Mother Dearest was intent on his regency being enforced. It was clear to see that she needed to be removed and he would certainly need to spend time concocting whatever plan was necessary. Petyr would no doubt be on the way to give his 'condolences' to both him and his mother. No doubt a wedding would soon be announced after in which he was confirmed as Lord Regent.

Fuck that.

The closest he is getting to my throne is the moon door.

His father's body was on the way ready to be entombed with his ancestors. For the first time since his entrance into this body he truly didn't know what to do. At first it had been about strengthening himself and learning the way of this world. That had all been covered now.

What was left was the immense amount of planning he needed to do. Plans that couldn't be put into place until he had a reasonable regent.

If only Jon hadn't been a stubborn arsehole.

-

 **Robert Baratheon - Kings Road - 298AC**

Robert Baratheon was cold.

The North was just as miserable and inhospitable to southerners as he had been warned. A light snow covered the ground even in the summer, strong wind billowed around blowing it into drifts. A vast nothingness as far as the eye could see.

The North alone was as big as the other kingdoms and regions of Westeros put together. Immense and sparsely populated. It was no wonder the Andals had never conquered this territory. Doing so would be impossible. Moving armies around would be incredibly difficult, especially for southern troops unused to the climate.

A good job we are on good terms.

But are we? The last time he had seen Ned was the Greyjoy Rebellion and before that was when he had laughed at the deaths of small children. Something he regretted now, if only for the strain they put on his relationship with Ned. They had to be dead for his rule to be anything resembling peaceful. Yet the callousness he had shown was perhaps a bit far.

Will Ned forgive me for it?

It had been a long time. Hopefully long enough for past grievances to be forgotten. He needed them to be.

Robert still struggled to wrap his mind around the death of the only real father figure he had known. He might have been born to Steffon Baratheon, but he was a child when he died and Jon had raised him and taught him to be a man, or at least tried.

He was the one casualty he was never prepared for. Men dropped like feathers in Westeros. A tough land where weak men died every day.

But Jon was not a weak man.

He had lived through the reign of five kings, fought in multiple wars and had raised his banners in rebellion to save Robert and Ned.

He had always appeared so strong. So defiant. So full of life.

Yet his age had finally caught up with him it seemed. His death had been so fast, a shock to all. It was a small comfort to Robert that Jon would be mourned widely in the kingdoms. Especially in the Vale. Which brought his mind to Jon's only son and heir, Robert.

Whilst the boy was only twelve he had shown a lot of promise during his time in King's Landing, especially during the tourney. He was willing to admit that forcing a twelve year old into a tourney filled with high quality knights likely wasn't his best idea, especially Jon's only heir. Yet it had turned out fine in the end.

The real question was whether he would be as able as his father.

Only time would tell.

-

 **Robert Arryn - The Eyrie - 298AC**

Sometimes he found himself forgetting.

Forgetting the world he once called his own. People most of all, the faces of his friends and family. The way they talked, the language they spoke, the cars they drove the houses they lived in. Some days it was as if that world had never existed. That it was a dream from a lifetime ago he would never dream again. A world that was implausible, that this was his only reality. Some days he believed that, after all, it is impossible to move through worlds. How could he have left behind a world so different from this one.

Yet most days he accepted the truth. It was gone, his past life and all its encounters and fleeting moments, happiness, sadness and pain. The childhood he had taken for granted, all gone. Replaced with a life that had before been equally mistreated by a sickly child. Yet he had fixed it, or begun to fix it. A life that would have been wasted without him inhabiting the body.

In his previous world he had been a regular guy, he wouldn't have contributed anything much to the world. Wouldn't have taken much either, but he would be born and die without affecting society in any major way. In this world though, his existence mattered. People relied on him, needed him. His decisions would shape the face of the land and that was both incredibly exciting and terrifyingly nerve-wracking at the same time.

The weight of a million lives in my hands.

He couldn't afford to make wrong decisions anymore. Everything he did had to be correct. No decisions made haphazardly. He supposed there was no lord in Westeros as burdened as him, at least emotionally. They had been raised nobles, trained to take on the mantle of power. They also tended to care little for the men and women under their command.

Whereas he had grown up in a world where democracy was a thing, and whilst not a perfect system by any means. Certainly held the opinions and welfare of the masses in much higher regard than the Westerosi nobility.

He let out a sigh, the same sigh he seemed to be using with more frequency after each passing day. This world was really taking it out of him.

 **A/N**

 **Hi...I apologise for the lapse of updates in the last 3 weeks. Had a lot of work to do and then managed to get tonsilitis which was unpleasant to say the least. Hope you enjoyed this as insufficient as I feel it is. :)**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12-**

 **Yohn Royce - 298AC**

The road to the Eyrie from Runestone wasn't pleasant.

It was more of a goat track than a road and marching two hundred men along it was tiring and slow. He had passed Ironoaks some three days ago and was still a good weeks ride from the Arryn fortress.

 _Though perhaps it will be worth it._

He had been summoned to court a moon's turn before and had set off as soon as he was able. Taking his eldest son Andar with him. It would do him much good to find friends in the castle of the boy who would one day be his liege lord.

It had seemed strange to Yohn that he received his invitation from the young Lord Arryn rather than from his maddened mother currently acting as his regent after the terrible death of his father.

That had been a sad moment for all the lords and ladies of the Vale. Jon Arryn had ruled his lands for decades and had ruled well. Seen the fall of a grand dynasty and the shaky beginning of another. The world would be worse off without him.

 _Not that his son doesn't show promise._

During his tour of the Vale, Robert Arryn had spent time in Runestone. Over that time Yohn had grown fond of the boy. Robert had got on well with Andar and Robar and they had spent much time sparring.

 _I wonder his reasoning behind my summoning._

There were very few possibilities he could see. Discussing the future of the kingdom? Securing allies during troubling times?

It could be for any number of reasons.

He could only assume he would find out upon arrival.

 **Robert Arryn - The Eyrie - 298AC**

In his plethora of high priority issues Robert had left the most pressing of them all untouched.

The Others.

Oh sure he had fortified his fortress even more so than before andmade progress on surviving winter through better farming techniques. Yet he had not begun to aid the Night's Watch in any form, and he was certain stopping the Others at the Wall would be far easier than fighting them after they were south of it. Every corpse was another soldier in their undead army.

With this in mind he had begun the transportation of dragonglass from Dragonstone to Gulltown on the premise of it making good ornatery items. It had caused a few raised eyebrows but no one had reason to suspect anything untoward.

One couldn't simply go around spouting crap about the Others and not be deemed certifiably insane in Westeros. No, he would require much more tact. He had received a raven from Castle Black the same as usual asking for aid in the form of men and resources. Such letters were usually ignored by every castle in the realm barring perhaps a handful of Northern houses. Yet this time the Watch would be receiving a reply.

One he was sure would cause a few more raised eyebrows.

He was sure that within time there would be people asking questions but for now he was simply aiding against the 'wildlings'. The only excuse he needed.

Luckily the Watch was not so far removed from life in the south that people scorned it. Lord Royce's son was a black brother after all.

 _Lord Royce._

He had summoned the man to The Eyrie some weeks before yet had not revealed the reason.

His mother was grinding on his nerves. The mad woman would barely let him feed himself nevermind rule the Vale. She had to be dealt with and Lord Royce was the man he needed.

He was a well known and respected man, with vast experience in ruling and commanding.

Robert may not be able to rule on his own for a few years yet but a more suitable regent than Lord Royce wouldn't be found. Even better he was sure that he would be allowed more input into the running of the realm than he currently was.

Royce was currently a few days away from arrival at the Eyrie and Robert couldn't wait. Once he arrived he would need to speak with him immediately regarding the matter.

His mother might have been the Lady of the Vale for over a decade but she had made few friends in doing so. He was doubtful anyone would miss her when she was returned to Riverrun. He was even more certain that no one would attempt to stop control being seized from her. Many knew that she was far from sane of mind and between a mad Tully and a Royce he knew which the lords would prefer to temporarily rule the kingdom.

At least he hoped. Things had a tendency of going the opposite way you wanted them to. Call it Sod's law.

It was at this point that he would truly begin to change events. His foreknowledge would only be good for so long. He had not yet noticed ripples on a grand scale but he was sure that the inventions he had brought with him had drastically changed the lives on poor smallfolk.

Once he began to rule the Vale with Lord Royce proper implementation of his farming techniques and also begin a more drastic plan of his. Something that would change the vale in a multitude of ways.

 _My own city._

To the south east of the Eyrie was a vast plain currently dominated by farmland and very little else. With an increase in production and less required hands people would be looking for opportunity. He could start the city in an already developed area, however slight this may be. Drawing people to an already known settlement is far easier than starting completely afresh.

There were many farming villages in the area and he had been looking them over for the best possible location. The city would have to project power. Show absolute dominance over the area. The Lannisters had Casterly Rock overlooking Lannisport. The Arryns would have The Eyrie overlooking their own city. It would provide more wealth and power directly to House Arryn.

He had eventually settled on a small mining settlement built against the mountains. Centrally positioned along the northern reaches of the Vale Proper. He already planned to connect it to Ironoaks and Heart's Home through an improved road network through the mountains.

There was only one problem that he had yet to deal with.

 _Who armed the Burned Men?_

Steel had been given to them by someone. Whilst he was sure Petyr was the mastermind of the plot he didn't have access to quality weapons himself. They would have to come from elsewhere.

Considering the logistical issues of moving a few hundred weapons halfway across the realm he could safely assume they were from within the Vale itself.

After realising this he had managed to procure a list of people most likely to deal with Littlefinger due to debt or ambition. The list included House Corbray of Heart's Home. A house that had been indebted to Baelish during his time as Commissions Officer in Gulltown.

They were his prime suspect for Baelish's accomplice to the plot, an ancient house commanding a major stronghold in the Vale. They could have easily supplied the weapons necessary for the ambush.

The only real question is what they gain from it.

Yes they were in debt, an old yet poor house.

Clearly Baelish had promised them something. If Robert were to die Harry Hardyng would become Lord of the Vale. As far as he knew Harry held no connection to House Corbray. Only to House Waynwood.

 _Could it be more than one house?_

Time would tell. Though he could imagine himself wielding a Valyrian steel sword.

 **Ned Stark - Winterfell - 298AC**

The fat brute of a man who had once been his brother had ridden into his castle not a fortnight before.

Where once was strength, now lay weakness. The man who had once been Robert Baratheon was now an angry drunkard, fit for nothing but taking whores and beggaring the kingdom.

He thought back to the last time he had seen Robert, some ten years previous during the Greyjoy Rebellion. Robert had not been so incapable then, he had fought and killed many ironmen during that campaign. After which Robert had entrusted the last son of Balon to him as a ward of Winterfell.

He could vaguely recall King's Landing. The death place of his brother and father. The great capital of Westeros. A snake pit full of liars and criminals. It seemed he would reside there once more, a prisoner of southern politics

He much preferred the north. There honesty and truth amongst most northern men. There were few deceptions and plots. Fights were done out in the open with honour.

 _Usually_.

Perhaps with the exception of House Bolton. Though their manners had changed much over the centuries. They had progressed much from the Red Kings of old who would wear the skins of Stark men.

There had still been moments when he had wondered if that were truly the case. Lord Roose Bolton had shown his...practicality a few times during the two rebellions. Such as when he had argued for the execution of Ser Barristan the Bold. An action which would surely have turned people from their cause. One does not execute an injured knight of Ser Barristan's standing.

Despite this Ned did not believe House Bolton was rebellious in any way. They had not rebelled in many centuries. Yet he had heard the rumours, that they continued to practice flaying's privately and even displayed the skins in a private room in their seat of the Dreadfort.

He would never be able to discern the truth of that matter without direct accusation and so had never pursued it. Yet it stayed at the forefront of his mind when engaging with Roose.

He briefly wondered if he could suggest Roose to be Robert's hand of the king rather than himself. He was certain a Bolton would do well in King's Landing.

He sighed and returned to staring at the papers on his temporary desk. They had been travelling south for a few days now and were about two days ride from Moat Cailin. They would already be there were it not for the Queen and her servants requiring carriages combined with the road being covered in light snows.

He sighed once more.

 _This is the beginning of a very long journey._

 _-  
_  
 **A/N Sorry for making you wait again, hope this is better than the last one and please tell me what you think and add any suggestions or improvements you think could be made.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13-**

 **Maester Colemon - The Eyrie - 298AC**

Coleman had been in service to The Eyrie for many years. During those years Lord Arryn had fallen sick only a handful of times. He had always been of strong composition and had shrugged off many illnesses. So when the news came that Lord Arryn was with fever and apparently unresponsive Colemon knew it was serious.

He had made his way to the old lords side as quickly as possible. He had immediately attempted to relieve the fever. Having little luck with regular treatments for fevers and sicknesses. For how could burning through a fever help if it was not a fever at all? No, Lord Arryn's condition had been caused by far more malicious intentions.

 _Poison._

Colemon, having failed at aiding his Lord with all other techniques, had attempted purging as a last resort. Expecting nothing more than failure he had instead had success after success, Lord Arryn's condition began to improve. That was until the Grandmaester took over.

Coleman had attempted to advise the Grandmaester to the cause of Lord Arryn's symptoms only for his words to fall on deaf ears. Pycelle refused to acknowledge the possibility of poison despite treatments for such being successful and had forced Colemon to leave.

 _Then Lord Arryn died._

The Grandmaester had failed to save his life and Colemon was sure he could have had he simply continued the purges.

 _Why would the Grandmaester ignore me?_

It didn't make sense. A learned man of the Citadel ignoring evidence seemed illogical.

 _Why?_

Who stood to gain from his death.

One thing was for certain. The Grandmaester was involved in the death of Lord Jon. Whomever's plot it may have been.

 **Robert Arryn - The Eyrie - 298AC**

Parchment was a rough thing.

It bore little resemblance to the mass produced paper from his old world. The surface was rough and the colour uneven. Giving it the look of an invitation to a child's pirate themed birthday party.

Yet it was the best that was made in the known world and he would have to make do.

He briefly wondered if the Valyrians had better paper. In the books he had read it seemed that everything they had had was better.

The new Lord of the Vale sat in the solar which had long belonged to his father. The parchment in front of him was a detailed, or as close to detailed, census of the lands directly under control of House Arryn. Including a large acreage of the Vale Proper.

A census of the entire seven kingdoms hadn't been done since Aegon V. Yet he assumed many lords had their own personal records of the lands they own.

The figures he had been given were neither troubling nor a cause for celebration. They were just _fine_. House Arryn was not a house of paupers, yet neither were they swimming in gold. Yet the mediocrity annoyed him, he of course knew why this was. 'Honourable men' in their infinite wisdom look down on trade. They believe that a man should be able to support himself completely without need of others. It was that attitude which allowed the Vale to fester. Even the Arryns of Gulltown had been severed from the main house for their connection to trade.

Such was a foolishness he could not allow to continue.

Trade was an absolute necessity, and would be desperately needed in the near future since he would be importing large amounts of mined dragonglass from Dragonstone ready to ship off to the Night's Watch.

He could spend all the time he wanted building power in the Vale but if he didn't have adequate plans and provisions for the coming Long Night it would all be pointless anyway. He estimated that he had around a year before the Night's Watch discovers the wights and shit begins to go downhill. Whilst better than nothing, he needed to get a fucking move on if he was going to be of any help at all.

Lord Royce had arrived in the Eyrie two days previous. After speaking to him at great length they had decided on a course of action. Lysa his 'mother' would be deposed as regent and sent packing to Riverrun.

Yohn had been hesitant at first. Yet after witnessing the batshit crazy woman trying to force feed him milk he had come around rather quickly.

The plan was a peaceful takeover, effectively a coup. With Robert's regency being ended and Royce filling more of a 'guidance' position a sort 'hand of the king'. The plan would be enacted after the Eyrie's guards had been paid off and Royce's retinue was in place.

-

Two days later and the preparations had been made.

Robert was walking next to Lord Royce through the main courtyard of the Eyrie. Ahead were the large double doors entering into the throne room. His mother sat inside.

 _Well this is it. Crazy bitch will be gone soon._

He, Yohn and the handful of knights he trusted reached the doors and, upon seeing the young Lord Arryn, were opened by the guards.

Robert strode inside followed by his smallish entourage and immediately spotted his mother upon the dais. She was currently ordering some poor fool to be shoved out of the moondoor. Likely due to no fault of his own. She hadn't taken Robert's sudden detestation of her very well after all and had lashed out rather viciously at many, both noble and smallfolk alike. Which had unknowingly only helped him in his plans.

Two guards grabbed the man and roughly dragged the thrashing man towards his flying death. Lord Royce gave a hand signal to a pair of his knights who immediately ran off to stop the execution of a man who had, likely, done little wrong.

His mother turned her furious gaze upon Lord Royce then, screeching her fury she ordered the surrounding guardsmen to secure his arrest even as the pair of Royce knights still fought with the Arryn guardsmen.

The nobles in the courtroom then looked slightly apprehensive. The execution of an unlucky guardsman was one thing, the arrest of a High Lord of the Vale was different. Such was easily enough premise for a likely nasty civil war.

The other Royce knights surrounded the Liege even as steel was drawn by every armed man in the court.

 _Nothing is ever easy._

-

Administration of land was fairly easy in Westeros. The general populace were used to taking orders from nobility and therefore obeyed when commanded.

Since his mothers 'abdication' as regent he and Lord Royce had been spending time converting all of Arryn owned farmland to the new farming methods. Of course there had been uneasiness about the change in practice but Robert was sure that when people saw the increase in yield such mumblings would cease.

It had been five days since his mother had been shipped off back to Riverrun. He could only hope his grandfather Hoster and Uncle Edmure didn't take too much offense. Yet he was sure they would be convinced enough of her madness upon meeting her.

He was currently drafting a message to send to Stannis Baratheon on Dragonstone. The man had dragonglass and plenty of it. The island was also fairly poor so Robert was sure he would be eager for a trade deal. He could order it under the guise of exotic decoration. Then have it moved on to the Night's Watch alongside a host of men when the waters got choppy.

Another matter was disposing of Petyr Baelish. The man had not done as anticipated and Robert had been forced to get rid of Lysa. Baelish must have known or expected it to be a trap. This presented a big problem. What was he doing? Plotting my inevitable painful demise? Or was he just spending time ordering his whorehouses and skimming coin from the King's treasury?

Robert expected it wouldn't be long until he would find out.

 **A/N Sorry this took a while.**


End file.
